Conversation Overheard Ch.02

After I wrote and posted about the breakup of my marriage with Tom, I got quite a few emails which surprised me.

Most were nice but some complained about my story not being a standalone. Others mentioned that I didn't explain about having been married before, or where all the sudden money came from.

I realize that if I did say all of that, my story would be very long. But I think in reading other's stories that it is easy make that mistake.

Then since my relationship with Tom failed but he didn't really go away I had more to write.

I decided to sit down and try to tell the story, to try and do better.

I don't even know why, something inside me makes me, it's some kind of...therapy? I find myself beginning to understand why some people write stories, it's because then we can go back and read them, and remember our mistakes? Or maybe relive a fantasy or a moment?

I don't mean the errors in the story, I mean the errors in life.

Of course I am not a writer, I am a Doctor, soon to be 40. I worked for a short time in a hospital after graduation, realizing quickly even before that that I really didn't want to work with sick or hurt people.

That sounds strange, doesn't it? A Doctor that doesn't like dealing with sick people? I know when someone was lost, I would nearly always cry, it was so hard to deal with.

After High School I knew I needed a profession, there was a huge push at the time for the medical field. Money to pay for college was available in that field, so I chose medicine.

Then for the first two years I worked in a Trauma center, I can't even describe what that was like. So many times I would just go home and cry myself to sleep, visions of torn bodies filling my mind. So many people in a hurry, taking risks. Paying the price.

Yes, I am a Doctor. Just not the kind some would think.

When the chance came to work in a wellness clinic, I grabbed it. Turnover there is high, mostly because the pay is so much lower.

For a couple more years I would see patients every 30 minutes, take their blood pressure, vitals. Then I would put on a glove, investigate their body's orifaces.

I can say I have had my fingers up many men's rectums, some seemed to enjoy it. I would be untruthful if I said I didn't also. I would sit on my little roller stool, take their penis in my fingers and inspect it. About 20% would erect, at least partially. I would smile sweetly at them.

"Your penis looks very nice and appears in good working order." That was my line, I must have said that 1000 times.

Yes, that was fun. I enjoyed it. There. I said it, being honest. I am human, too.

But I soon found myself in the position of Clinic Administrator, a position mostly shuffling documents and handling restock and personel, things like that.

I am the boss, I get to do things like make sure there is enough toilet paper for the staff, decide which anonymous human I see only on a piece of paper gets referred and to which specialist.

No more injuries, no more "Turn your head and cough" motions to go through. Clients were on a piece of paper, not right in front of me. This was a job I could handle, a good living with benefits.

There are a few men who come in about once a year or so, I recognize the names. So I will see them myself, partly because it looks good on my record to see a few patients.

The other part is some of them are the special ones. They often will pretend to have some type of sexual dysfunction or another.

I know the truth. I talk to them, inspect them and take my time doing it. A few times I have even ordered a "sperm sample", and I have "assisted."

All simply medical of course.

Yes, I admit here I do some things that cross the line just a little. I am human.

I am not one of those raving beautiful women, men don't stand in line to date me.

Most of them seem to not even notice me.

In the clinic, in the little room with me touching them, it's like they notice me.

So that is me, a 39 year old woman, no doubt insecure, inside I wish for sex, touch, love like any woman. Just as much as those who are so much more beautiful than me.

My hair is light brown, coming just over my ears, easy to care for. I have 15 pounds extra on my 155 pound frame, and it all seems to be in exactly the wrong place. My behind measures almost 6 inches bigger around than my bust. So I think seriously about not eating the extra doughnut, the bowl of Ice Cream...right after I just ate it.

No point in trying to fib, the description is mousy, plain, big bottom. But I do have very nice breasts, they measure 36" with a "B" size cup. I see everyone seems to like a big 36DD but I think those would just be heavy. My breasts are pretty and my best feature so I am proud of them.

My first husband lasted just months. His name was David and he insisted on that, he hated the nickname "Dave." He also drank like a fish, nothing I could do or say had any effect.

I finally had enough the day an argument over that ended up with him holding me by my hair with his hand back to strike me.

My foot got there first and he let go. The divorce was easy, we had nothing to fight over. I did get the trailor.

It was 8 long years later before I married again, this time to a tall lanky man named Allen.

That lasted two years, until his addiction to Porn became an online affair that progressed to meetings in motels. I went down to bail him out of jail, read the charges. It seems he was caught with a young man in a parking lot at a campground. I turned around and walked out, leaving him there.

I met Tom years later. That was an accident, he had some questions about his policy for his business, part of my job is helping the clients with that. One thing led to another, dated, then we became intimate, and married.

I had inherited a lot of money and things from my friend Lee, and moved into the house out East of Portland. It was a huge change from my apartment downtown on Burnside.

For one thing, the sounds outside were birds and animals instead of horns and traffic, roaring engines. I just hired a man who worked at the Credit Union to deal with everything, he was an investment broker.

I suddenly had enough money, I didn't even need to work. But I liked my job, so I kept right on with that. I did get my hair fixed and colored to hide the beginnings of gray, and some new clothes, that was about it.

Tom moved into the house with me, he owned a house on the East side but mine was nicer. He soon took over the finances, that wasn't my strong point anyway.

There was almost two full years of happiness. Then I found out Tom was cheating on me with his partner's wife, Sara. That was bad enough, I even tried to sort through that, work it out. Tom then began acting like he wanted me to be slutty, I even went along with that with reluctance.

Well, I pretended to be reluctant, it was awesome in a way to have men want to touch me, do things that are naughty. There were conflicts in my mind, I wanted Tom to step in and stop some of it but I was excited at the same time. When one man danced with me and actually slipped his hand inside my top and touched my bare flesh it was like fire. I let it happen but was ashamed at the same time.

All those emotions all at the same time. Good girls don't do things like that.

I guess I am not a good girl deep down inside?

I do know quite a bit about sex, illicit desires, things people do to excite themselves. We studied that in medical school. I see the results of what people do in the paperwork at my office.

So my Tom was sleeping with our friend Sara, and I overheard the conversation about me. I was confused, did Tom really want me to sleep with Frank? I just wasn't sure about that, I was being torn two ways.

But when I discovered the money transfers, I put everything together. Tom and Frank were working together, bleeding off my assets about as fast as they could go.

Well, they weren't quite as fast as me at that.

That all shaped up to be a nasty court battle except for some documents I had showing what Tom had been doing. The fun part was watching his face change color when my attorney shoved some paperwork on his "employees" across the table.

It seems that the government looks unkindly on paying people in cash, and since the workers were mostly undocumented, the government looks especially unkindly on the taxes not having been paid.

Neat handwritten notes showing how much was paid out would have logically been destroyed, but then Tom wasn't exactly smart.

I knew darn good and well that some of that just might reflect back on me as being liable, but it sure did make for a good bluff.

Tom folded and it was over.

I could say I was smug about handling all of that so well, instead I made it all the way home and sat down and cried.

I settled back into my life as best as I could, but there was a huge hole. I was used to regular sex now. I loved the cuddling and lovemaking with Tom, now I was left with solo sexuality.

That barely did the job, there is something about someone being there, touch, the emotions that are the real need. The orgasm is secondary.

I decided to try and find a lover. I had had it with husbands.

I thought about going to a nightclub. I had even done that a couple of times with my friend Lee. But that wasn't me. The times I did allow crazy and raw I couldn't take that back. It was something I had done, knowing the risks and doing it anyway.

I wanted intimacy, cuddling, holding hands. It was way more than want, it was a need that was in me so strong I almost couldn't bear it.

I remembered the night out with Frank and Sara. I remembered allowing both Frank and a man I didn't even know some liberties on a dance floor.

I allowed that just to upset Tom, that is what I rationalized to myself.

The truth of that? I don't know. Think of years of being overlooked, other women around you getting attention. Then someone notices, wants to touch, someone is suddenly paying attention?

My body reacts just like anyone else.

Those became my fantasies during my personal moments. I would start out thinking of my experience at the park, three young men had picked me up and I ended up letting them have their way in a crazy almost public setting. The beginning of orgasm would sweep over me, then every time those thoughts would fade as I approached orgasm to dancing with that stranger, his hands boldly slipping inside the top of my dress to fondle me.

Afterwards I would feel a trace of shame, but it would repeat every time I touched myself.

Sometimes I would wake up late at night, reach and find no one there. There would be a momentary sense of shock before the fog of sleep lifted and I remembered.

In the mornings I would go into the kitchen, half expecting to see Tom sitting there, shuffling papers and making notes for his next project.

It seemed strange that he wasn't, it took months for that feeling to go away.

It was an accident that I met Paul. The fax machine in my office broke down so I ran down the street to send some paperwork. A man in his early 40's came out, saw me and smiled. He ran off the documents, I paid him and started to leave.

"Hey, I am breaking for lunch. Would you like to join me?"

I looked him up and down, he seemed pleasant, attractive. He wore glasses, had the beginnings of a receding hairline. The expression on his face was...hopeful?

"I think I would like that, yes!" I told him, offering my best smile in return.

Paul made a few comments to the other employees, then came out from behind the counter.

"Buffet OK?" He asked me.

"Sure."

There was a buffet style restaurant a few blocks away, one of those all you can eat places that weren't on my diet at all.

We filled some plates and found a table. Paul asked me lots of questions, he seemed interested. I found myself pouring out the story of my recent divorce. He mentioned that he was also divorced, with two children, a boy and a girl both in College.

As we got ready to return to work, and I was thanking him for the nice meal and conversation, he asked if he could see me again.

"Yes, I would like that!" I told him, jotting down my numbers on a postit note.

I was a giddy schoolgirl all that day, but by the next day I was back to being me again. Yet I jumped whenever the phone rang, each time it was someone on staff with a question, a problem.

My answering machine light was flashing when I got home, I eagerly reached for it to play back the message. It was Paul, asking me out to dinner.

I think I became a little giddy, feeling like a schoolgirl. I called him right back.

I gave him directions and he arrived right on time. At dinner the conversation was pleasent, easy. Afterwards, we danced several times, he held me comfortably. There was no groping, no pressing.

Paul walked me up to my door, I turned to thank him.

"I really would like to feel your lips touch mine, is that all right?" He asked.

That sounded so odd, yet so romantic. I smiled and waited, my mind flashing to thought of Paul seducing me. My body trembled at the thought as he reached out with both hands to cradle my face, then leaned forward to press his lips to mine.

Had he asked, I know I would have allowed more, but he didn't ask.

"Thank you." He said, simply and he turned to leave.

I stood there on my porch and watched as he drove down the driveway, waving.

It was almost a week before Paul called again. We had a repeat of the first date, just a different place. Again he kissed me and left.

There were several dates, all ending the same.

I was beginning to wonder. Then we came out of a movie and got in Paul's car. He turned to me with an odd smile, I realized he was nervous.

"I was wondering...hoping? Have we known each other long enough to...?" I kept a straight face, I understood perfectly. Paul was being a perfect gentleman, he was simply too shy to come right out and say it.

"Let's go to your place." I scooted across the seat, leaned my head on his shoulder.

We were no more than in the door, he stood hesitantly but I took the initiative. I slid into his arms, and we kissed in a way lover's kiss, instead of the brush of lips we had had so far.

Paul was gentle, too. He slipped off my upper clothing, spent a very long time touching and teasing me. I orgasmed mildly when his lips slipped over one of my nipples, the first time I remembered that happening.

Then I was naked, he stood and removed his clothing. When he leaned to slip his briefs down I looked, he was enormous. He stood up, a solid 8" inches jutted straight out. The circumsized head was the size of a plum. Paul sat on the foot of the bed, reached up and pressed my legs apart. Then his hands touched me, spread my lips, sending tiny shock waves through me. I felt my body flood in anticipation.

He slid upwards, aligned our bodies. I felt a huge pressure as he entered me, just the head at first. Then he increased the pressure and my body opened to allow him, he slipped part way, then I felt his pubic bone press against me.

The very first downward stroke set me off, and it just went on and on and on. I can't even describe all of it, it got lost in the haze. I remember the sweat, I remember his thrusting and my thrusting back, the sounds, the wetness as he blasted into me at least a half dozen times.

We lay together for a very long time, my body kept mildly climaxing over and over with each tiny motion. Then we went and showered together, washing each other carefully. I suppose I could say we went at it again in the shower but we didn't, it was just nice.

Then Paul took me home. I tossed and turned and had trouble sleeping. I missed having my man right there at my side but of course we weren't married so I guess I understood.

Paul and I dated regularly after that. Each date ended up in bed, afterwards we would shower, then if we were at my house he would kiss me and go home, or drive me home and kiss me goodnight.

It was only a few weeks after we became lovers that Paul and I were sitting in a small Mexican place out on Burnside eating Tacos.

I looked up and there sat Tom with a man I didn't know.

My heart skipped a beat, I was fluttery, suddenly nervous. It must have shown because Paul asked me if something was wrong.

"No, nothing. Just my ex-husband."

"Oh. Which one?"

I pointed Tom out, Paul looked at him, then shrugged. Just then Tom spotted me, smiled and waved. I nodded back, then I blushed like a schoolgirl.

That night in bed I found myself thinking of Tom as Paul worked to pleasure me. I even bit down on my lip to keep from crying out his name.

I felt completely ashamed of myself for that. Afterwards I was pretty quiet, my head filled with visions of things Tom and I had done together. Paul noticed something there, too. He seemed hurried, and he went home quickly, leaving me to my thoughts.

Why in the world would seeing Tom have such an effect on me? I had loved Tom as much as is possible, that I knew. He hurt me terribly, though, betrayed my trust.

Paul didn't call for a few days, that wasn't normal. I found myself waiting for the phone to ring. Finally after almost a week I walked over to the shop where he worked. As I rounded the corner I could see in. Paul was leaning over the counter talking to a lady customer, she was beaming back at him. He looked and acted exactly like he had with me that first day. I watched for awhile, then I saw her take a pen and some paper, scribble something and hand it to him.

I turned and walked back to the clinic, emotions filling my head.

I had no place to complain, we weren't married. Paul had never told me he loved me, in fact he had never even stayed with me all night.

The next day when the phone rang at home, I jumped for it, thinking it was Paul.

It was Tom.

"Hello, Sally. I just wanted to call to say hi and see how you are doing."

"Oh, I am fine." I answered, that silly flutter in my chest at the sound of his voice betraying me.

"Are you getting on OK?" he asked.

Then we talked. I guess only long time married couples can understand, we really talked. I don't even remember what it was all about, it was everything. Then he told me he needed to go, he was working on a large commercial job.

"I want you to know I am sorry. I miss seeing you." he added.

"I miss you, too." came out of me even as my mind was screaming at me to not say that.

"Bye, Sally." He said.

"Bye."

I hung up, but the phone rang again in minutes.

It was Paul. I wasn't in the mood, I was depressed, confused. I begged off going out, telling Paul I was not feeling real well.

"Oh. Sorry. OK then, get some rest."

I barely got back to my chair, reaching for the remote when the phone rang again.

"Say, I was thinking." Tom's voice said.

"I will be done here about 7, would you like to go to a late dinner?"

"We could catch up on things." He added quickly, before I could answer.

"OK!" I said, a bit too quickly.

"Great! Pick you up at 9." And he was gone without waiting for an answer.

I ran around the house picking up everything, then I rushed upstairs and showered. I must have dressed and undressed 20 times, everything I put on seemed to be either too much or not enough.

I finally settled on a soft green blouse that left just a hint of cleavage, and some dark slacks that I always thought made my fanny look smaller. I was just finishing the final touches of a trace of makeup when I heard Tom's car in the driveway.

I opened the door, Tom was dressed in a sport jacket, a nice light red shirt which was one of my favorites, in fact I had bought it for him.

He was clean shaven and looked squeaky clean, his hair combed back, the hint of silver at each temple. His face was lined, the skin showing the signs of day after day in the Sun, not rugged, just...nice?